


Red String snippets and AU's

by LadyHallen



Series: Mafia and Magic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/M, Female Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10018436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/pseuds/LadyHallen
Summary: Alternate Universes and snippets involving Hyacinth and Reborn. May or may not include mafia or magic





	1. Dragon Nest AU

Hyacinth was just opening her store when she encounters smoke.

It wafts out from under the door cracks and blows into her face uncomfortably. It smells like burning wood smoke.

With some alarm, she palms her wand and shoves the door open.

She hits something with a dull _thud!_

“What on earth?” she asks out loud.

She was unprepared for another voice to say, “Do you mind?” Hyacinth jumps.

“Err?” she says nervously.

“I’m trying to sleep here,” the voice continues. “Do stop bumping me around. It’s hardly comfortable.”

Hyacinth edges around the door crack and comes face to face with an eye that’s the size of her head. It’s surrounded by light, opalescent yellow scales.

“Sorry,” Hyacinth manages in the face of what was obviously was a grouchy _dragon_. “But this is my shop. And I’m opening today. I need to open the door.” She’s proud of herself for not squeaking or screaming.

The dragon sighs. “And I suppose you want me to go away now…” he mumbles.

There’s something forlorn and desolate in the dragon’s tone that resonates with Hyacinth. Before she can think about it, she places a hand below his eye to stop him from squirming around to leave.

“Stop it,” she says sharply. “I want to move you and you can go back sleeping.”

The dragon gives the impression of quirking an eyebrow. It detracts from the sheer relief that crosses his face.

“And how do you want to go about that?”

Hyacinth raises her wand. “Do you mind being smaller?”

The dragon doesn’t answer, probably from the astonishment at the idea. Hyacinth usually wouldn’t offer, but the Elder Wand was good for some impossible spell-casting. Occasionally.

She starts to cast Reducio, lessening the size of the Antipodean Opaleye dragon to something resembling a very large cat. She fetches a pillow from her stockroom and carefully levitates the dragon on top of it. The dragon purrs at the touch of the pillow, further solidifying the image of a feline in her mind.

“Oh, this is lovely,” the dragon sighs, rolling around the pillow. “Simply beautiful. I didn’t know wizards could enchant my kind. I thought you were simply too inept to manage it.”

Hyacinth doesn’t bristle, too used to dealing with purebloods who all spoke to her that way.

“You’ll find that I’m probably the only one of my kind who can do this,” Hyacinth says dryly. “And I didn’t even know dragons talked.”

She puts the purring dragon out of her mind – or as much as a witch can put a _firebreathing lizard inside a bookstore_ out of her mind and starts cleaning the dirt brought in by a sleepy dragon. It is mainly ash and earth, some clumps of flesh that she would determinedly not think about and dust.

By the time Hyacinth has a breath, the store is already accepting customers and she gets her first order of butterbeer. She doesn’t notice until it’s too late but every witch and wizard who comes to her counter to order a drink or ask for the location of a book pauses at the sight of the miniaturized dragon snoozing by the cash register.

“I like this admiration,” the dragon mumbles when she takes a break with a cup of hot chocolate and some biscuits. “No fleeing in terror. I will invite my kin.”

Hyacinth looks up from her sugar haze with some alarm.

“What?” she hisses, remembering not to shout at the last minute. It resembles a strangled squeak. “Don’t you dare. I _can’t_ take care of all of you. There are animal clauses in place for this!”

The dragon rears up his head. He still manages to make it look legal despite his size. Really like a cat.

“Did you just qualify me as an animal?” he growls. It rumbles deep in his little chest and makes her hot chocolate shake. “I am a dragon, witch. I am fire and death incarnate. We are the lords of the sky and the makers of the first flame.”

Hyacinth wants to put her head in her hands. “Yes, I know you are!” she says. “And I really respect your kind. I nearly got killed when I was fourteen by a nesting mother dragon. But _I’m_ not the one who makes these laws. Your kind gets put in Dragon Reserves to keep you alive. Because you were being hunted to nearly extinction decades ago.”

He subsides irritably. “Hmph, those laws have nothing to do with me. My kin are already coming.”

With that, he rests his hands on his claws and starts snoring, delicate spirals of smoke being emitted from his nose in a weird parody of a snore.

“Merlin’s arse,” she curses.

Then she looks up and finds that every customer in her book café is staring.

“Uhm,” she starts nervously. “Sorry for the interruption.”

An interested wizard leans over his table, curiosity alight in his face. “Is that an animated dragon doll? He’s fairly accurate isn’t he? But shame you made him talk. I would have liked one for my niece.”

Hyacinth wants to cringe. She’d found that wizards never really wanted anything to start talking. Because talking implied sentience. Sentience alluded to intelligence. Intelligence usually demanded rights. Just look at what they did to the poor Centaurs and the house-elves.

Luckily, the dragon did not take offence. He just opens one eye and gave her a look. It says, _There’s your solution. I’ll play along._

It isn’t reassuring. Not in the least bit reassuring.

.

* * *

 

When the dragon said kin, he hadn’t mentioned _how many._

The part of her that would forever be a Slytherin applauded. The Gryffindor bits cried. Almost _fifteen dragons_ of varying sizes were in her backyard. Thank Rowena for Grimmauld’s place charms. The automatic expansion charm was Merlin sent. If it hadn’t existed, they would have flattened a good part of London.

“Merlin’s arse!” she muttered.

The dragon, curled up around her neck like a scarf, purred in greeting.

“Welcome to our new home,” the dragon greets them. “This is our witch.”

Hyacinth wants to cry. She settles for laughing instead. If it sounded a tad bit hysterical, nobody mentions it.

“Reborn,” one of the dragons says, a large one that had a lovely light orange pattern on her scales. “What have you done now? The flock won’t just roost…what on earth have you done to yourself?!”

Hyacinth finds herself in the unfortunate situation of being under the scrutiny of fifteen grown dragons. Her hand is clenched white around her wand and she shakes.

“Stop that,” the dragon – Reborn – snarls. “This is my witch. She can reduce our size. These small creatures have this glorious invention called a pillow.”

It’s a credit to Hyacinth’s bravery – if not exactly her intelligence – when she meets their eyes squarely and defiantly.

“What an adorable little animal,” a smaller purple one remarked. “I shall try this myself.”

Given permission and comforted with Reborn’s purring at her throat, Hyacinth raises her wand and does not flinch when every dragon hisses at the sight of it. Determinedly, she casts a Reducio on the purple dragon and makes it a bit smaller than Reborn, proportionate to what Hyacinth remembered their sizes to be.

“Now,” the purple dragon says, tone demanding. “Where is this … ‘pillow’?”

Within the hour, every dragon is reduced in size and lounging on their own pillows under the sunlight. Only two had elected to share one and they were amethyst colored dragons that looked nearly alike. Almost like twins.

Hyacinth learns all their names in the course of changing their sizes.

“You can call me Verde, witch,” a green dragon had announced like a lord bestowing a favor. “And make my size bigger than Reborn’s.”

Reborn had hissed a challenge at that but given that Verde had been infinitely bigger than Reborn just then, Hyacinth had complied.

“I am Luce,” the one who had scolded Reborn had said. “And I am sure you will give me a size that is wonderful.”

In hindsight, that absolute faith in her abilities had been worse than any demands.

Skull was the purple and almost perpetually sad dragon that did not make any demands at all. Viper is the third amethyst colored dragon that is bigger than the twins, strange triangular marks on her scales. Fon, one of the few Chinese Fireball’s in the herd, had been as red as the miniature she had seen in Viktor Krum’s palm.

Collonello, a name that had made her choke back laughter, was a light blue she had seen in purebred Antipodean Opaleye, asked for nearly the same as Viper.

Kyoya, the first one to volunteer to a change, had also been a Chinese Fireball, but the purple color indicated a mixed breed. The twins were Mukuro and Chrome, names that had twisted Hyacinth’s tongue, but not as much as Tsunayoshi.

“Call me Tsuna,” the easy going orange dragon had offered. His eyes, a lovely shade of amber, gleamed with good humor. “I have no idea what my mother was thinking, naming me that.”

An energetic yellow dragon by the name of Ryohei had reminded Hyacinth so much of a Labrador that she had almost made him larger than the rest. The thought of dealing with Reborn’s offended hissing had her shrinking him almost to the same size as the rest.

A red and blue dragon, a really strange mixture that announced how mixed the dragon’s blood was, had asked to be called Hayato. His very nature reminded her of a cat and if she shrunk him smaller than Reborn, which was a complete accident.

 The last one to be changed, a blue dragon that had some spiked scales from a Norwegian Ridgeback and the opalescent color that was prevalent to the rest of the herds breed, announced his name to be Takeshi.

.

* * *

 

Hyacinth learns a lot of things about her houseguests.

One, they weren’t cats. Though they loved napping in sunshine, they loved baths even more. She had never met a cat who liked water.

Two, bread was bad for dragons. She’d accidentally given Tsuna indigestion and the rest of the herd nearly killed her for it.

Three, herding them all to work was worse than dealing with toddlers.

Toddlers couldn’t fly.

Toddlers couldn’t breath fire if you squeezed too hard by accident.

Toddlers didn’t argue with logic on why they couldn’t have ice cream.

By the end of the week, Hyacinth found herself fired from work.

The dragons all found her in the kitchen, crying.

Initially, there had been a cacophony at her tears but Reborn beat them all into submission with angry glares and hisses.

“What’s wrong?” Yuni asks.

She wipes away the wet trails with determination but it’s a futile thing when she drops fresh tears every blink.

“I’m fired from work because apparently, “enchanted dragon plushies aren’t conducive to the reading environment.”

While Reborn had agreed to no contest being an enchanted dragon plushie, the rest certainly hadn’t. They all looked at Reborn with revulsion.

“Why do you not start your own business?” Reborn asks. His tail is lashing back and forth agitatedly and his leathery wings, large even in his small size, is whipping up a storm. “From what I have seen of your nest, you are certainly affluent enough to start your own.”

The sudden inquisition stems her tears, if only due to surprise. The dragons certainly never expressed interest in her life before. It had always been demands for more fish or more pillows.

“The house is an inheritance,” she explains, and then goes on to elucidate what an inheritance was to dragons who certainly lived forever and who fought over hoards. “My godfather left it to me. My parents left me a lump of gold, but I had to give it to the goblins to pay for repairs after I broke out a dragon in captivity in their bank last year. So, despite how large the house is, I have nothing to buy things with.”

A couple of the dragons exchange shifty looks at that announcement.

“Hmm,” Verde rumbles at the side. His tail is tucked under his claws and his wings are folded neatly at his back. Hyacinth will forever equate him to a Persian Cat. “It seems to me, witch, that your problems can be solved with some monetary… _lending_.”

Viper jumps up like something burned at the word.

“Lending?” she asks, ignoring the amethyst dragon making a ruckus. After the week she’d had, dragons in a snit really weren’t impressive.

“We are dragons,” Fon explains. “Even the younger ones have quite a hoard amassed. We shall lend you some and we will give you something in recompense for … putting up with us.”

Hyacinth wants to protest. She actually did protest. “We’re friends,” she says, looking around the dragons ringing her and the younger dragons playing tag overhead. “You don’t pay friends for staying with you.”

Luce noses her hands. “No, you don’t,” she agrees. “But we can help a friend out.”

Hyacinth bursts into tears again.

.

* * *

 

She calls her Book Café “Dragon Nest”.

It’s a small, quaint thing that served original, dragon themed drinks that none of the wizards had ever seen before.

Firewhisky and butterbeer are still served, but Hyacinth also gave out Dragon Breath and spicy platters of Dragon’s Fire.

Her reduced guests had learned their lesson at making too much noise but Hyacinth still had to partition a space in her café she called, “Dragon’s Play Area,” where it’s soundproofed and fireproofed. Any dragon itching for some chaos would go there and play.

It becomes something of an attraction in her café, to watch the reduced dragons play and wreak havoc to the miniature obstacle course she added.

Everyone still thinks they’re dragon plushies, but of course a dragon tamer would notice. Charlie would notice.

.

* * *

 

“They’re not just enchanted objects, are they?” he asks her. His blue eyes sparkle with interest as he watches the dragons play Quidditch in their Play Area.

She is wary but since this is Charlie, she concedes the point. She can’t ever fool a Weasley. They knew her too well.

“No, they’re not,” she sighs. She sits opposite his table and he shoves aside his book on dragon lore. Reborn, who seemingly never left her side when she worked, let out a threatening rumble.

“That’s impossible,” Charlie breathes, looking at Reborn with awe. “It’s impossible for magic to affect Dragons directly. They’re nulls, Hyacinth.”

She shrugs and procures the Elder Wand, putting it on the table. Any wizard worth their salt would recognize it.

“That’s…isn’t that Dumbledore’s wand?” he asks.

Hyacinth nods. “And it’s Grindelwald’s too. He took it from Gregorovitch the Wand Maker.”

Charlie is not labelled a genius for nothing. “The Elder Wand?”

He shakes the awe away quickly, immediately looking at Reborn again. The vain dragon starts to preen.

“Can I touch him?” he asks. He realizes his error and looks at Reborn in the eye. “May I touch you?”

Reborn concedes to this and flies over. Hyacinth lets out the breath she is holding when Reborn holds himself obediently still.

“What have you been feeding them?” he asks.

Hyacinth is decidedly not an expert in dragon care and accepts advice from the dragon expert.

“Fish. Mainly fish. They don’t like cooked food. And I almost killed one of them with bread.”

He laughs at her. “Ground pork and mix it with eggs,” he suggests. “Any protein, really. They burn through it quickly, judging by how much they play.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” she says, unaware of the burden she had carried regarding the health of her dragon friends until Charlie came along. “Thanks so much. I wasn’t even sure if they’re the proper weight or something. There’s no books about their kind!”

“Mixed breeds,” he says knowingly. “They get pushed out of their herds more often than not. I would save them, but where would they go?”

By the gleam in his eyes as he looked at her, he knew exactly where they would go.

“Oh no!” she exclaims, standing up. “I am not! I will not!”

Charlie laughs, pays his tab and leaves. Hyacinth did not believe for one second that he changed his mind.

“You tempted fate,” Reborn says, finally speaking. He only ever really spoke when they were alone. “You really tempted fate, naming your business Dragon Nest.”

She knows that, Merlin dammit!


	2. Obligatory Coffeeshop AU

Harry met the eyes of a constant customer and mustered up a smile.

“The usual, sir?” she asked.

The man nodded absently, already handing over the bill. She rang up the purchase and queued it. Lavander snagged it another heartbeat, machines whirring up a storm behind her. The priority number handle was pushed to his hands and he walked away. Harry entertained the image of him tripping over a chair and immediately felt better.

“Can I have a chocolate cake?” a bubbly little girl asked, tiptoeing to meet her eyes.

Harry steeled herself from having her heart melt. She’d learned enough from working in retail that it’s usually the sweet and adorable ones that had the insane demands.

“We have a kiddie size, miss,” she said. “Though I do think you can deal with the adult slice.”

The kid scrunched up her nose and ordered an adult slice, tottering away and gingerly holding on to the plate. Harry held back a wince when she imagined the kid skidding on the flooring and planting her face on the cake, breaking the plate. Service charge or not, plate breaking made for a bad atmosphere.

Another one, by Merlin a _teenager_ , asked for a Triple Chocolate Frosty with an extra helping of Whipped Cream. The boy asked if it was possible to add in _smores_ on top of the thing.

“That would be another twenty,” she said, holding back her incredulity at the sheer amount of sugar in the thing.

The kid dug in his bag for spare change.

Just as she finally had a breather, the mother of the cute bubbly little girl scolds her for ruining her diet because she had apparently enabled the kid to get high on sugar.

No, scolding was too nice. That was outright banshee screeching.

Harry bore through this, holding a professionally crafted mask of sadness and regret (she practiced this for a week before she could hold it through anything.), all the while imagining throwing a cup of scalding hot water on her face. It makes her feel immensely better.

When the rush hour finally tapered off, the door opened and in walked Harry’s favorite customer.

She didn’t know his name, he just said, “Mr. R.” and asked for an espresso. It was always an espresso, nothing else. No cupcakes, no muffins, no cookies, no nothing.

She adored him for the simplicity of it and that he had the common sense not to come in a coffee shop during rush hour and expect service that wasn’t rushed, or perfunctory.

“An espresso, please,” he said before she could open her mouth.

And there was his voice. Aside from his ridiculous side-burns that were really eye-catching, his voice made her knees weak. Deep, pleasant and it rolled off his mouth like honey. (Harry never thought that working in retail would ever leave her with some poetry, but this man brought it out.)

Mainly though, aside from everything else, she really _really_ loved how he made up his mind on what he wanted and how much practicality he had.

“Of course, sir,” she said, ringing up his order and not even bothering to ask if he wanted anything else.

There’s no rush, he just loiters by the display case and she hands him the paper cup, covertly studying his profile. He had the classic Italian face and he really was unfairly handsome.

“Until next time, Harry,” he said, rubbing a thumb on her fingers. She almost dropped the cup and he smirked, strolling out.

Lavander budges her hip with and stares with her.

“Did he just…”

“Yeah.”

“That was hot,” Lavander concluded. “Very subtle, but hot. You ought to write your number on the receipt, the next time he comes around. And ask his name again.”

Harry doesn’t want think she would dare. She had seen one woman hit on him before and be rebuffed so completely that the woman had been absolutely mortified.

“Nope,” Harry said. “Let’s see first. I think it’s really unfair that he’s that handsome though. You’d think someone that suave would at least have a hairy mole somewhere.”

Lavander snorted a laugh but returned to her station when another customer came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking, almost all coffee shop AU’s are sooo nice.  
> Dude, they are working in retail. Retail. That’s like, shitty, demanding customers and stressful rush hours. Generally being used as stress-relief by other people ordering a cup of coffee.  
> And then in comes Reborn: no nonsense, no dithering over orders, brusque if not polite but that’s light years better than all the other assholes. So she starts to fall in love with “that one polite guy that sometimes flirts but doesn’t do anything else.”


	3. Break-up AU

It started with little cracks, little things that shored away the foundations of their otherwise firm relationship.

Hyacinth’s flinches when he comes home injured, or Reborn’s temper when she shies away from him in terror in her nightmares, stiff from remembered fear. 

They try, oh how they try, mostly for each other’s sake than for anything else, because Reborn recognizes contentment when he feels it and he knows how dependent she is of his strength.

But the cracks spread and it all crashes down when Reborn wakes up.

He had spent most of the night under the throes of complete and utter exhaustion, mostly due to blood loss and hands shaking, pale and cold due to the horrors he had witnessed.

He wakes up, and he sees the spot in the bed where Hyacinth usually lay, cold and empty. He doesn’t have to look far to find her, she is in a chair beside the bed, arms around herself and looking…. _fragile._

 _“Tesoro_ ,” he murmurs, half-asleep still.

Hyacinth flinches for a moment, before her face turns cold and her eyes look like carved emeralds - unfeeling and distant.

“I can’t do this anymore, Reborn,” she whispers through bloodless lips.

And the words don’t register through his mind. Dread pools in his gut, his spine feels unnaturally stiff. He is aware his Flames are climbing up and sparking in his eyes, but she has all his attention.

“…what?”

Hyacinth closes her eyes, looking away. “I…I  _can’t_. You come back, blood soaked and pale…and I wonder when you’ll stop breathing at night, if I’ll wake up to your corpse. If…If you won’t come back at all, and one of your friends will just send over a letter.”

His mind, his usually sharp mind, is closed off and numb. He allows things to go on auto-pilot. He can’t think of anything to answer her, because everything she says is true. He is slowly torturing her and he didn’t even know it, because he held on to her, even if it was hurting both of them.

“I’m sorry,” he manages. “I’ll leave today.”

She chokes back a sob. “Reborn,” and it is a plea, though he didn’t know what for. He slams his shields on, because leaving himself bare and vulnerable in front of the one person he thought he could be vulnerable with makes him feel raw and bloody. 

He thinks about being in front of a dozen enemies with their sights on him, and he just…shuts down.

He gets up and tries to ignore the high keening wail of someone who  _did not want_  to cry.

He would break later. Once he wasn’t in enemy territory, he would break. But for now, he would empty the place of his presence, and he would leave.

“Reborn,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”

The door shut gently and suddenly, it occurs to Hyacinth. She’s alone now. No one to hold her, or make her laugh. 

Mippy appears by her side in worried frenzy, but Hyacinth can’t note that. She crumples by the bed and  _wails_ , cursing herself for being so weak as to be unable to bear his occupation, to be unable to support him as he supported her.

She calls herself weak, and pushes back her tears but she only succeeds in breaking her wails and go on to gasping sobs. It leaves her weak and with a headache. Mippy smooths her long, spindly fingers over her forehead, the cool digits helping a little.

“He won’t come back, Mippy,” she whispers. “I’ve pushed away the man I love.”

Reborn doesn’t cry. He pushes everything back with a shuddering breath, walling everything out and stomping down on it, just like everything else good in his life that had been taken away.

He didn’t deserve her, he thinks. He is better than her. He thinks of apple cider and warm cookies served on a rainy day and does not flinch. He pushes the memory away and chains it to the depths of his soul. He remembers a mischievous smile and buries that under mountains of bitter feeling.

Things had been going so well, he half-expected it to go to hell. And it did. Aside from Tsunayoshi, nothing good ever stayed good for him. Only the Vongola had stayed.

He closes his eyes and doesn’t cry.


	4. Mermaid AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Math Professor Reborn sludges through vacation with herculean effort, until a storm blows a mermaid in his backyard.

 

Reborn greets the new day with a scowl.

The storm last night had lasted well into midnight, almost dawn. It had tapered off very recently and Reborn curses his sensitive ears. Every bang of the shutters against the window had woken him up. Eventually, he’d given it up as futile and he’d just played Angry Birds on his phone. (The physics of it amused him and he adored being sadistically awful as he smashed birds on pigs.)

The pained whine that he hears makes him still as he attempts to wrestle with breakfast.

“ _Cazzo_ ,” he mutters irritably. No breakfast, no coffee and no sleep. Was it any wonder he wanted to murder something? Granted, he’d done longer sleep-deprived binges while working on his thesis but he is supposed to be on vacation.

He follows the sound to the pool area and stops dead in his tracks.

There, by the shallow stone steps of the pool, is a mermaid.

He rubs his eyes a couple of times just to make sure and the mermaid is still there. Another pained whine escapes her mouth and he snaps out of his haze, hurrying toward her and snagging a couple of towels from the rack – it’s a miracle it hadn’t been blown away from the storm.

“Hey,” he says softly, remembering Squalo’s lessons about approaching injured animals and some such. “Let me take a look at that.”

Her look of terror is heartbreaking but he ignores that in favor of touching her tail, a broken branch speared through the delicate fins at the ends. He wants to swear because he is most definitely not a veterinarian. It had been stupid to hope that it had been the human half that had the injury anyway.

“Shh,” he says, putting a hand around her and wrapping the towel around her shoulders. With his other hand, he dials Squalo.

Like the doctor that he is, though his bedside manner is atrocious – not that his animal patients need it – Squalo answers promptly.

“Fucking shit,” the snarls come across the phone lines. “I’ve got zero sleep, what the fuck do you want, Reborn?”

He is immune to the threats. After spending one semester with Luce and Lal, Squalo is almost tame.

“How do you deal with a branch stuck through a fin,” he asks promptly. If left to stew, Squalo would get worse. And besides, the mermaids green eyes are now flooding with tears of betrayal, presumably about the lack of action about her fins.

“See if you can sew it up after you take the branch out,” is the immediate reply. “If not, bind it tightly enough to staunch the blood flow. Shit, why the fuck are you asking me this?”

Reborn looks at the fin and notes that yes, he can stitch that. The branch was a small one, thin enough to be sword-like.

“I have a new pet goldfish,” is his immediate rejoinder. “Last question, what do fish eat if I don’t have fish food?”

“What the fuck is there in the wild? Fucking worms, rats, grasshoppers and other shit,” Squalo is sounding exasperated. Reborn can tell through the cursing. “Reborn, answer the fucking question.”

Just to be an asshole, Reborn says, “Thanks a lot, Squalo!”

He cuts the line off just in time to hear the cursing.

The mermaid still hadn’t moved except to grasp at his shirt and tug at it experimentally.

“Let’s take care of you,” he says to her. “Now, don’t bite me or anything if I carry you to the deck chair, alright?”

Her hands, which he absently notes as having sharp claws and some delicate webbing in between, clutches at his arms in terror. The claws digs into his skin and he breathes with the effort not to hiss in pain. The whimpers come back as her tail swings with the motion.

“I’ll be quick,” he murmurs, patting her riot of black hair. “Don’t panic.”

She whines at his back, enough encouragement that he locates the first aid kit in record time.

With a quick wrench, he pulls out the branch and grunts in pain as her hands, which had been on his shoulders, dig down. Her nails really are bloody sharp. He doesn’t blame her though. The amount of blood pooling down is a testament to how many nerves there are.

“What’s your name?” he asks, patiently sewing the wound back together. The fins are long and delicate, unlike anything he’d ever touched before. At first touch, he’d likened it to leather, but after one stitch too many, he realized it was even more fragile than leather.

“Neehhm?” she vocalizes, ending on a high pitched whine. “Naaahhmmee?”

Smart, he realizes. Very smart.

“Name,” he repeats slowly. “Reborn.” He points a bloody finger to himself and watches comprehension dawn on her.

“Naaame. Reeborrn,” she repeats, getting better with the vowels and rolling the R’s.

“Reborn,” he says even slower.

Her eyes – a lovely emerald green that is a shade darker than the color of her tail – track his mouth and how he shapes it.

Really smart, he reiterates. He gets a thrill of amazement and challenge at the thought of teaching her Italian.

“Reborn,” she says, finally getting the pronunciation right.

“Name,” he repeats, pointing to her.

A high pitched chatter comes out of her mouth, her throat working oddly to produce it. It occurs to him that she likely had several inhuman traits in her other half as well. Humans weren’t meant to breath underwater.

“Right, unpronounceable,” he mutters. “Figures. Right. I’ll just give you a name then.”

He muses on that as he ties the thread and bites it off efficiently. Her eyes are wide as she watches him move, innocence seemingly radiating from her.

Fragile, innocent and beautiful. It is unearthly, her beauty.

“Hyacinth,” he says slowly. “I’ll call you Hyacinth.”

He moves away from her injured fin and watches as she pats down at her tail with caution, and then more briskly once she realizes she could bear the pain.

She chitters once more, voice high. He fancies he can hear his name somewhere in there. She gestures at him to come closer. Some things, apparently, crossed species.

That clawed hand tugs at his chin and she is suddenly kissing him.

It’s a thank you, he realizes about two seconds in. He’s familiar with kisses and this kiss had nothing in it but gratitude. No lust, no demands or no wants. Just gratitude.

He blinks back once she’d broken it, the sly, mischievous smile on her face telling him that she was likely not as innocent as she looked like.

“Minx,” he laughs, scooping her up.

The backyard door’s latch opens with a practiced kick and he is making long strides towards the beach.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmurs as she slides down and flips through the waves with expert ease, though from the pinched look on her face, she’d likely just realized she would pull the stitches if she moved too much.

With another laugh, he shakes his head and goes home.

.

* * *

 

.

Kissing a mermaid, Reborn realizes two weeks later when he falls from his yacht, had consequences.

Not the least of them is that apparently, he can already breathe underwater.

What had him panicked, however, are his eyes.

Human eyes don’t see in the dark. Belonging in the minority that could see well enough to spot silhouettes in the dark and avoid bumping his toes on cabinets, Reborn admits to panic when he opens his eyes underwater and sees deep enough to spot the sea bed.

“Fuck,” he permits himself, only to end up swallowing salt water. Automatic panic reaction has him flailing his limbs to break the surface, coughing reflexively.

Now I know why she speaks in pitches, he thinks sourly. Opening ones mouth underwater, even if you can breathe it, is not advisable.

“Reborn!” a voice _very near him_ says.

“Gah!” he exclaims, bobbing down in his shock.

His mermaid, Hyacinth is right in front of him, eyes blinking so innocently that he doesn’t believe she did it on purpose.

“Reborn,” she repeats, pointing to him. “Come.”

He blinks at her. “You learned more words then. And where are we going?”

She laughs, tugging at his hand. He holds back a yelp as she swims speedily towards his yacht that was still running. He’d never seen anyone swim as fast as her, not even Olympic Swimmers. Being tugged with her shouldn’t have been so comforting, except she obviously knew what she was doing.

She pushes at his torso once they get close enough to his yacht. Thank Primo that he left it running slow. With a heave, he climbs on and switches the ignition off. To his surprise, Hyacinth climbs up after him, eyes wide and curious.

“Make yourself at home,” he says dryly, stripping off wet clothes and finding a towel.

A high pitched questioning whine had him turning back to her and he finds her eyes riveted towards his hands. A closer look makes him realize she’s looking at the silvery puncture scars from her claws. Evidently, she’d realized where it had come from.

Another whine and a familiar gesture has him coming closer. She doesn’t kiss him and he has mixed feelings about that. Until she grabs the previously injured arm and licks at it.

“ _Cazzo_ ,” he murmurs feelingly. He feels suddenly so warm and it had nothing to do with the towel.

“It’s alright,” he says, pulling his hand away from her mouth. “It was nothing. Compared to hotheaded teenagers, claws are absolutely nothing.”

She still looks sad but Reborn is getting better at noticing when she’s being serious and when she’s messing with him.

The glint in her eyes and the uptick at the side of her mouth tells him she’s trolling him.

“Stop that,” he scolds, feeling every inch the professor he was. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

She giggles and Reborn decides to teach her more words. He teaches her about fifteen new words, somewhat startled that her learning comprehension was that fast. He vows to bring a dictionary next time.

When the sun is going down and the weather is turning colder, she procures a shell from her satchel. He’d noticed it dangling from her shoulders earlier, but some things are just easy to forget.

“Blow,” she says, gesturing to the hole.

He obliges since she’d humored him with his words for the whole afternoon.

The sound that comes out is a sweet, lovely tone, not too deep and not too high. It was a comforting sound and he thanks her for it, returning what was surely a treasure.

Her face becomes genuinely upset when he returns the shell, gesturing agitatedly that it was his. Words are apparently easy to lose when upset.

“Shh,” he repeats. “Alright. I’ll keep it. It’s a gift then? Thank you.”

She smiles hesitantly when he makes no move to return it and then, lighting fast, she grabs his chin again and kisses him.

It is another kiss of gratitude and Reborn controls himself not to deepen it into anything. Her being half-naked and him only in his swimming trunks do not help matters. At all.

“Tomorrow,” she says decisively, before diving back to the sea.

Reborn slumps on the deck with a groan of acute pain.

.

* * *

 

.

If one kiss from a mermaid had given him the ability to breathe underwater and see into the depths of the darkness ocean floor, what does a second kiss give him?

Reborn has absolutely no idea but he is willing to find out.


	5. Break-up AU 2

There’s just something as too much coincidence, stretching the realm of improbability too far that it would likely break, and Hyacinth wants to yell it to Fate. It’s her Potter Luck, she wants to think, but this time, she’s just damned, cursed or maybe Malfoy hexed her when she wasn’t looking. Because she isn’t supposed to see her ex-boyfriend again, a year after he’d left her, when she’d finally picked up whatever remained of her dignity and  _had a life_.

And Reborn, damn him, acts like this is nothing, when every breath she is taking that carries the scent of him is like breathing in acid and there is a boulder in her throat that stuck there as soon as she’d seen the beloved fedora.

“Hyacinth,” he says with surprise. “How…strange, to see you here.”

She had to give him that, because after their break-up, it would have been logical to assume that she would leave Italy behind. But she is here, drinking tea and trying not to shake.

“I know,” she manages. “But…this is a small world. And I can’t skirt around Italy forever, they have the best food.”

His shoulders are stiff, she notes. It’s strange that, after everything, she remembers that about him. How he showed his emotions.

Hermione, the Merlin blessed witch, comes back from the bathroom, taken aback when she sees Reborn. She should be. Hyacinth had, under the influence of too much firewhisky and too much paint fumes, vowed to hex him senseless the next time she saw him. The absence of spells flying must have confused her friend.

“Oh, it’s you,” Hermione says, voice flat and bordering angry. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He shrugs, and it’s like watching a mountain move. Hyacinth aches to…do something about it. He is so stiff from the tension.

“I work around here,” Reborn says and it is more than a little annoyed. “I should be asking you that question.”

Hermione’s eyes are so sharp that they are almost shooting cutting hexes. “You don’t have the right to ask us that question, what business is it of yours? I was asking what the hell  _you_ are still doing, in  _front_  of my best friend?” she hisses.

Hyacinth wants to speak, to tell them to stop clawing at each other, but she can’t. The words die on the way to her throat, and for once, it is something else to have Hermione release all her anger. She knows her friend is angry on her behalf, but, at the end of everything, Hyacinth is just tired.

“Hermione,” she manages, and just in time too, because Reborn’s fingers are twitching and Hermione’s bushy hair is starting to spark.

She knows both of them so well and it is because of that that she is terrified. She has never really seen Reborn do his job but a title of the ‘ _World’s Greatest_ ’ isn’t something you boast about unless you have the skills to support it. And Hermione’s rage…well, Dolores Umbridge was one such victim, and she still had regular nervous breakdowns after receiving the end of it.

“Both of you,” she tries again. “I don’t really want either of you to fight. And Hermione, Reborn was being civil. The least you can do is reciprocate.”

“ _Reciprocate,”_  Hermione says the word like Ron used to say, ‘study’. “ _Fine_. But I swear…”

She trails off, likely too angry to find words for it.

Hyacinth helplessly looks to Reborn and is just in time to catch the look of frustration on his face, and anger.

Oh, she knows his eyes when he allows them to express feeling and they catch the light just right. He is feeling murderous, and it is too much effort to suppress a full body flinch when he catches her eyes as well.

If possible, that reaction makes him horrified, taking him out of his it.

“Hyacinth,” he says softly, slowly, like one would to a rabid cat. “You do know that whatever the history that we have, I would never hurt you.”

Hermione makes a sound like an angry teakettle.

She feels something inside her sit up and take notice, even as the rest of her sat on that reaction as best as she could.  _Hope_  is something she is infinitely familiar with, being a physical embodiment of it for most of her life. Hope for their long dead relationship, however, is something else.

Damn him.

The way he said her name, caressing it like he still had the right to shape the syllables like that.

_Like they were something precious to him._

Damn him.

“Why?” she says softly, a rage that she thought had long left her coming alive again nearly bleeding through. “Why would you care? If someone puts in a hit for me tomorrow or today, I know you would take it.”

She has the satisfaction of watching Reborn turn white, before it is overwhelmed by remorse for saying it.

In all their…acquaintance, she had never brought up the subject of his job, or used it against him, even in their worst arguments.

This is the lowest of all low blows and both of them know it.

“Is that what you think?” he asks, voice hoarse. “That I don’t care?”

She wants to shout ‘YES’ at him. She had replayed him leaving of what must be a thousand times in her mind, and all she saw was his ruthless efficiency as he packed all his bags and left, not even sparing her a glance.

It stops in her lips, because the fine trembling of his fingers, as well as the muscle jerking in his jaw tell her different.  If she had seen him like this, when they were still together, she would have given him two boxes of china to break and left him for an hour.  This is Reborn struggling for control and for a man who had such control of his emotions, to have him nearly lose it…is something else.

He purses his lips at her continued silence and breathes deeply. Abruptly, he leaves, the espresso still on the table, the chair overturned in his haste.

Hyacinth looks down at her tea, and wonders why everything is blurry and why her ears cannot hear properly, only a rushing sound. Her breath stutters in her lungs and Hyacinth finally, blissfully, faints.

.

* * *

 

.

He had thought that going to get a cup of espresso would be a good breakfast, as well as a muffin. But, the sight of his old lover, sitting there and reading a book, swirling a cup of tea absentmindedly, was like going through time.

If he really concentrates, he can recall that was how they first met. In a coffeeshop, her with a book and a teacup.

The confrontation, however, was something he had expected. He had known a total of four women in his life Before Hyacinth. One, he was Luce of the Giglio Nero. The other two were good dates when he needed one for Nono’s numerous balls. And the other one was Bianchi, with her clingy ways. It had taught him that women usually bit, scratched and clawed at whoever hurt them, whether literally or verbally.

That argument had been Hyacinth  _gouging_  into him. And if eyes could shoot knives, her best friend’s glares could have killed him within the first second.

He still loves her, of course, and maybe that’s why the gouging had been so effective. It had felt like a blow to the stomach, winding him and making it difficult to breath.

Why would she think he would ever hurt her? Why would she think he didn’t care?

He may never have told her, not in words. But in everything else…

His watch rang then and Reborn pushed everything away, to the back of his mind and, when a stray through filtered through, deeper to where he imagined the darker side of his flames were.

His target was rounding the building, and if the target’s patterns held through, he would cross the street in 3…2…1… _click_


	6. Soul Fire Snippet

Reborn is now really curious about Hyacinth’s Flame.

Using Flames while being pregnant, while not as taxing to the mother like magic, would be good for the baby in small doses. He isn’t the type to wrap the child in Flames to get a taste of it while in the womb.  _That_ practice had fallen out of style because of the miscarriages that had happened.

But he does want to know what Flames his lover has, in order to prepare any emergencies.

She hadn’t been using it consciously, and the flickers of fire that he often saw peripherally could not have belonged to anyone else but her. Unfortunately, it was never in the quantities large enough to discern the type.

Luckily, Vongola had a method for that.

“Hyacinth,” he calls out as he removes his shoes. “My dear?”

Her humming originates from the garden and he makes a beeline towards her.

He pauses at the doorway and feels all the irritation from his last job fade away.

“Well, this is a pretty picture,” he drawls out. Teddy and Hyacinth look up with bright smiles, the mirth in their faces evident.

“The little wolf wandered in the forest,” Hyacinth explains as she brushes through matted fur and the wolf cub shudders in pleasure. “Teddy found it being bullied by the bowtruckles.”

The cub scowls at him. Reborn doesn’t blame it. Hyacinth’s attention is a heady and wonderful thing and the cub is obviously halfway in love with her already.

She hands over the brush to Teddy and the boy delightedly tackles the next matted knot of fur. While not as gentle as Hyacinth, Teddy makes up for it in sheer exuberance and enthusiasm. The cub can’t quite keep up the scowl under Teddy’s absolute concentration.

“What do you have there?” she asks as she wanders over to him, hands brushing away at stray wolf fur.

He pulls her to sit on the porch and opens the velvet box, showing a large white sapphire.

“Oooh,” Hyacinth coos. “It’s so beautiful.”

Her fingers twitch and he covers up a laugh. Of course she’s attracted to the sparkly thing. It glimmers and shines in the afternoon sunlight.

“It’s not jewelry,” he tells her and her face falls. He feels, momentarily, like trash. He stomps on that feeling with determination.

“It’s not?” she repeats. “But…”

“Do you remember our conversation about Flames?” he prods. “You know, the Orange Flame that Byakuran had been playing with?”

Her eyebrows wrinkle. “Something about the weather?”

With a sigh, though it’s not really heartfelt – Reborn is still a teacher before he is a hitman – he tells her about the seven Flames of the Sky and their properties. When he gets to the third one, her expression clears and she is practically vibrating in her seat.

“Oh,” she interrupts after he explains Mist Flames. “You’re talking about the Soul Fire.”

He feels distinctly confused.  _What?_

She continues at his look, “The really old magical families have alliances about Soul Fire, something about compatibility between heirs and some such. I’m not really sure. I only know that Luna has researched about it because it had been in her mother’s notes.” Then she blinks, eyes going wide. “Are you telling me that the mafia managed to  _weaponize_ it?”

He allows his Sun Flames, still the strongest in the world, to coat his hand in a shining, yellow light. She looks completely fascinated.

“That must be unhealthy,” she announces. “Or something. I mean, none of the purebloods really use theirs aside from another source of light. Those with crimson lights are always careful about the bedsheets though.”

He wants to laugh.  _Really_. Using flames as lamps. “You have magic. In a magical society, Flames must come secondary.”

The box on his lap catches his attention and he goes back to his point. “The Vongola has researched this,  _Tesoro_. Children that grow up with Flames are more likely to develop theirs. And she needs every weapon in her arsenal to grow up safe.”

She gives him an exasperated look at the pronoun use but obligingly accepts the white sapphire.

“Channel your will,” he says. “Don’t just glare at it.”

The White Sapphire, one of the biggest ones that Gianini had in his stock, winked merrily as little slivers of orange, green and yellow chase themselves around the stone. It is still no match for Hyacinth. Abruptly, Reborn remembers that Hyacinth had faced death and glared it down with little to no fear. The effect that would have on her Dying Will Flames would be tremendous.

This realization comes a bit too late and the White Sapphire shines for a moment in absolutely radiant multi-colored fire before exploding into dust.

“Err,” she coughs, eyes watering. “I take it that wasn’t supposed to happen?”

He runs a hand through her face, her hair and ghosts a hand down her torso, checking for damage.

“I’m fine,” she says, though she doesn’t push away his hands. “So what was that?”

Reborn finally smiles. “Sky Flames. Lightning and Sun. She’s going to be a well-equipped little thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asked permission from Vixen Tail to borrow her White Sapphire idea.


	7. Mercenary AU

**Mercenary AU**

**.**

* * *

There is a blade pressed down on her throat, and that's how Hyacinth wakes up.

"Don't move," the assassin whispers. "I might slip."

His voice is lovely, she notes absently. The rest of her is frozen partly in terror and partly in surprise. She blinks the haze of sleep away and sees through the gloom the dark, unfathomable eyes of her killer.

She flutters her eyes at him and he puts some space between the blade and the vulnerable skin of her throat.

"Why?" she asks. "Who?"

Through the thin mask of black cloth, she can feel him smile. "It doesn't matter."

If she had been in her proper state of mind, she would have protested, or called the guards the moment the assassins guard was down. But she wasn't. Earlier, her beloved father had just told her she would have to get married. To the bloodsoaked Dukedom of Vongola. A marriage that would hammer out peace treaties and prevent wars.

And she wanted to escape, to just stop thinking, because marriage to such a chaotic and bloody part of her kingdom made her skin crawl.

Death, all of a sudden, to her insomnia-riddled mind, seemed like a viable option.

"Thank you," she whispers when she feels the muscles on his arm move again.

The hand stops.

"What," the assassin says, voice too flat to make the word a question. "I thought I saw fire in you, princess."

She doesn't answer. He is merely an assassin and she doesn't need to explain herself to him.

"Never mind," he growls, low and angry. "I'm not paid enough for this."

.

* * *

.

Two weeks later sees Hyacinth slogging after the man who had been supposed to kill her. _Supposed_ to kill her.

"Why did you change your mind?" she finally asks. This is their first, real conversation that didn't involve insults (Hyacinth) and one of them storming off in a towering temper(the assassin-Reborn).

He looks ready to growl, but he takes one look at her face and subsides, clutching at his ridiculous hat that was supposed to be his disguise. (Ridiculous, Hyacinth would mutter whenever she caught sight of it. It had a _yellow band_.)

"You were… _interesting_ ," he finally says, rolling the words around his mouth slowly.

Hyacinth wants to slap him. The only reason she slogged through the marshes, dodging arrows and sword strikes and riding barebacked on a horse was because she was _interesting_. Still, it saved her life. It might not save her sanity.

"You don't understand princess," he says, probably feeling her irritated silence. "How utterly, mind-numbingly boring it is to be the best in your field."

So she had been saved, because he was bored.

Hyacinth clenches her hands underneath her robes and tries not to cry.

.

* * *

.

In the end, it isn't any slip in Reborn's part that gets them caught. It is Hyacinth's innate people saving thing, as her best friend mutters under her breath.

A little beggar boy, about to be whipped for stealing a piece of bread. And of course, Hyacinth's green eyes. The Potter's are always known for being kind, but her green eyes have practically given her a token to be recognized.

"It's the missing princess!" an idiot cries out. "Princess, welcome back!"

She is in _Vongola_ territory, and she wants to smack the idiot. By Reborn's hissed threat, he is feeling the same thing.

"How fast can you swim?" he asks her as they run, her with a hand on his tunic and trying not to trip on her oversized skirt.

"How fast can _you_ swim?" she fires back. Potter Land is surrounded by large bodies of water. It is practically illogical not to swim at least once in her life.

He smirks and she feels that dreaded feeling climbing down her spine. Swiftly, without even pausing, he reaches down and rips her skirt in half. Before she can gasp in horror, he is picking her up and throwing her to the river.

The water is not welcome and it is only instinct that keeps Hyacinth afloat. The second splash tells her he has also entered the water. She glares at his grinning visage through wet locks.

"You utter jerk," she growls.

"Race you to the other side of the river," he says.

They take off without a signal, because the sounds of the guards's marching had been too much for her frazzled nerves. It is likely that Reborn's professional pride wouldn't let him get caught, the arrogant asshole.

"What's your next plan now?" she asks, wringing her hair dry and determined not to show any shivers.

He upends his hat and considers, a finger on his mouth.

"I have a foolish student that might be willing to take us in, until I can rescind my contract to kill you," he says. "You will have to cooperate though, princess. No more of this ridiculous urge you have to save everyone you meet."

She clenches her hands and tries not to shout at him. "It's cruel to leave them to suffer, just because you can't be bothered to care."

He lowers himself to her height and Hyacinth refuses to admit that she might be a little bit intimidated. Decades of being told that she held the hope of the Potters made her straighten her back and glare back.

"Does it ever occur to you, Princess, that the people you save might not like to be saved? That they might appreciate saving themselves?" he asks.

The rebuttal flummoxes her and she's momentarily speechless.

Reborn smirks at her and leaves her gaping like a fish by the riverbank.

.

* * *

.

They are surrounded by bandits, two days into Varia territory and the only reason why Hyacinth hasn't broken down crying yet is because she sees Reborn actually making an effort to make it easier for her, though it certainly can't be easier for him.

Twelve men against one man, however powerful, are just impossible odds and everybody knows it, including the bandits.

"The great Reborn," their leader sneers. "We'll be sure to leave your face intact, we're collecting you're bounty afterwards, and getting a reward for returning the princess."

Reborn's hand is loose and his gun is already cocked and loaded. His eyes are dark.

"You'll be the first to die," Reborn announces.

The leader goes pale and signals, and things go to hell.

Everybody had forgotten Hyacinth though, because she is a woman, a princess and useless. But they also forgot that she is a Potter and the daughter of Lily Fire-hair, Dragon Tamer and Wind Chaser. So when the men behind Reborn goes for his unprotected back, she grabs the swords sticking out of belts and plunges it into their chests.

It doesn't go as smoothly as she'd hoped, and she almost trips over her skirt. But that's two men down. She checks on Reborn and finds him with a bleeding shoulder, three more bandits left.

Hyacinth kicks the one trying to creep at his blindside and he goes down with a squeak that makes her smirk. High heels, no matter how impractical, are weapons for unsuspecting men.

The other two are finished off with Reborn's gun and he staggers to the side. She catches his elbow and his eyes go wide at the sight behind him.

"You did that?" he asks, after two slow blinks.

She ducks her head and tries not to squirm. "Yeah," she says softly.

He tips her head up using her chin, reminding her abruptly of an opportunistic suitor. Unlike that suitor, Reborn immediately puts his hand down once she's looking at him.

"Raise your head, you did great. Now, if you kill someone, kill them quickly so they don't suffer," he says, proceeding to surprise her out of her wits. He lectures her on how to kill someone, where to hit and says it in such a soothing voice that it takes her out of the shock.

Even injured, he walks with dignity, doing his best not to show weakness.

It's at that moment that Princess Hyacinth, only daughter of the Potter's, falls in love with an assassin.

.

* * *

.

**Reborn**

He sees fire in her eyes as he spies in her household.

The only Potter Princess, the pampered child of James Potter. She had the delicate bones of her mother and her father's coloring. Except for her eyes. They burned with fire and defiance.

It draws him in and almost makes him forget his mission. To kill her.

He'd wanted to refuse – still wants to refuse. To kill a merchant is to halt a trade. To kill a princess, the only princess, will end that line and there would be anarchy and a possible Civil war if succession and inheritance isn't settled quickly.

Besides, he thinks, as she storms off in a huff. She is the daughter of Lily Fire-hair, Dragon tamer. He'd owed Lily a debt and murdering her daughter would likely make her haunt him.

"To hell with this," he murmurs, sliding past two pillars and effectively out of sight.

.

* * *

.

He wakes her up before he kills her, if only to give himself a reason not to.

And her eyes are still as vibrant a green as before, if even brighter in the darkness.

But her defiance and will is burned out and resignation is all over her.

She even has the gall to thank him.

It's so offensive that he almost gapes.

How could she! How could she just give up?

He takes his blade away and just straight up drags her out of her castle. His contract never specified when he had to kill her anyway. He had to understand first, why this fiery princess, who had the blood of dragons, just fucking _thanked him for killing her._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HC is that Hyacinth is just straight up tired of being a princess and would have entertained thoughts of running away, except she probably never even realized that she could run away.
> 
> Reborn is the best in the world, and he's used to struggle and danger and difficulty. And here comes his mark, thanking him for it. He's so offended that he can't realize that it's the first time he's talked to a human being in a couple of years.
> 
> Story is that they're both idiots and doing Princess Leia and Han Solo levels of Unresolved Sexual Tension


	8. God of Life and Death AU

**Hyacinth**

Hyacinth was the goddess of Life.

Flowers grew where she trod and the forest she lived in was evergreen.

It was a lovely point in Creation, because humans had yet to exist and all she knew were her attendants, the nymphs, and the other gods. They were clean and primal, coming into being due to ideas rather than faith and prayers.

Hyacinth was powerful, but she was lonely. Her wisest friend, the nymph Hermione of the Wisteria tree, said, “Why don’t you create a companion?”

And she created him, the first man and found companionship.

But she had forgotten the laws laid down into the very being of the Old gods. That they could never own what they created. All beings created would inevitably rebel against their creator.

The first man gave her a child and left, seeking other companions. Her child became the first god without a domain to guide and her eyes opened, already aware despite being a day old.

“I will grant you dominion over the mountains,” she whispered to the baby. “And you shall be the goddess of mountain ranges and the high places. The immovable, the impassable and the hard unbreakable passes.”

The child god, which had been silent and near transparent, started to cry, much to her relief.

Hyacinth did not name her, because the child would name herself, once she could get over herself.

.

* * *

 

**Reborn**

Reborn was the god of Death.

He came into being beside the goddess of life, and from where they touched came the first light.

He knew that, because he woke first and remembered first. He opened his eyes and saw the great chasms and the darkness that roamed the planet that he knew was their home.

It was his duty, he knew, so he gathered the darkness into the chasm, took those who felt like his and plunged them into a realm that was meant for the dead. Because the upper-world was meant for life, his world was meant for death only.

He created caverns of resting for the dead, a place of joyous paradise for the glorious and a place of immeasurable agony for the wretched.

It was a lonely existence, and he could not create life like the goddess of life. His wraiths, his skeletons and the angry craven creatures that existed in the under-world were quiet companions.

So he often came into the upper-world to watch the living.

He watched the other gods come into existence, primal and nearly ungoverned save for the laws laid into their very bones.

He watched the first man lay with a nymph and start all of human kind, spreading them far and starting his first guests in his under-world.

Mostly, he watched the goddess of Life create life without trouble, unhindered, untroubled and happy.

She was the most captivating thing he had ever seen and he burned with envy. He wanted to have her laugh for him, to smile at him. But he knew that it would be folly to force the goddess of Life. She would go where she wished.

So he watched, and looked at where all flowers grew and plucked them. It took effort not to have it wither in his hands, but he held life and smiled.

.

* * *

 

**Hyacinth**

She was bored.

Life was meant to be breathtaking, different and she did her best to create little wonders. From the icy caverns in the north where she knew man would not find in a couple of centuries, to the underwater caves that caused hot geysers to erupt in sequence. She made secret places and beautiful places, all for mankind to find. She made gloriously magical animals to the small, unnoticed creatures.

She met new gods who bowed to her and old gods who withered away from the lack of belief. She bore two more children, each of whom she gave guardianship to places where humans would not likely exist yet to make their own gods.

Her firstborn child named herself Maria and had hard eyes the color of the stone in her mountains.

“Mother,” Maria said. “You can close your eyes and rest, if you are tired. It is not a hardship, there are various gods to care for your creation.”

Her child was only worried, yet Hyacinth did not like the idea of closing her eyes to hibernate. What would happen to the world, if Life slept?

She wandered out of the Ancient Forest that was her home, disguising herself as a peasant human and burying her power deep into her very being.

Hyacinth became just Hyacinth, not a goddess of Life, but a woman with eyes like the evergreen forest.

It was the first time she had ever interacted with humans, being that she was one of the Primordial Gods, born more out of thought and the forces of the Universe than any human faith and belief.

“Did you come here for the festival of the goddess of the Ancient Forest, my dear?” an old woman asked her as she passed by the colorful stalls.

“The goddess of the Ancient Forest?” Hyacinth queried, because she was fairly certain _she_ was the only goddess of the Ancient Forest.

“She that made all life,” the old woman answered with a smile on her face. “We daren’t name her, but we give thanks to her in the spring.”

Hyacinth nodded and felt a little touched. She had never felt the need to show herself to the humans but they worshipped her anyway.

But since the old woman was sharing…”The god of Death. Do you know him?” Hyacinth asked.

The old woman – and here a distant knowledge told her that her name was Saralyn – frowned. “He comes in Autumn. Because there is no life in the under-world. So he visits the upper-world. And because of him, the leaves fall, and colder still, when he lingers.”

Hyacinth thanked her with a small smile and went to sit on the temple steps.

She had known of the god of Death distantly. She knew of him and his deeds, of keeping the darkness at bay and the other creatures that did not belong with the living. Because those creatures needed to exist to keep a balance in the world.

She had never seen him though.

She had seen his footsteps, the blackened earth where he trod a glaring sign for its lack of life. She had seen the marigolds that sprung when he left, the flowers of the dead.

But she had never seen him. Why was that?

.

* * *

 

**Reborn**

As the goddess of Life made more and more creatures to fill the earth, made more marvels that he could distantly feel, he felt it echo in his domain.

He saw the dark caverns holding a bit of light from the crystals that glowed in the dark like distant stars. Reborn held his breath as the dark creatures procreated and evolved, becoming more, reflecting the different creatures she created in the upper-world.

Reborn influenced these changes, welcoming them and molding them as to how it would go. His under-world was getting plenty of traffic and he wondered why. The humans were getting plentier and plentier, with the occasional demi-god thrown into the mix. (Nymphs were different. They became plants at their death.)

He had an assistant, a man who died with a soul so kind and righteous that even in the dark, he glowed like the sun. Reborn had chosen Tsunayoshi among a thousand souls because he reacted so hilariously every time he saw a hellhound or a wraith. A lifetime of prejudice against dark creatures did not react well when those dark creatures just wanted a cuddle.

He smiled as he saw short dark flowers that glowed in the darkness, golden muted light that lightened the grim atmosphere. It was the first time he had seen them though, and he asked them, like he asked every change in his domain, of what it echoed from in the upper-world.

“Why are you here?” he asked the flowers, touching their soft petals. He did not even need to hold back his powers; they were made from his domain and were grown from the darkness. It did not thrive in sunlight, but in the absence of it.

The flowers answered him. _The goddess of Life was thinking about him._

Reborn inhaled sharply.

“Why?” he blurted out, before chastising himself. It did not matter. He had already resigned himself to watching from a distance, someone as beautiful and vibrant as the goddess of Life did not need the god of Death.

Tsunayoshi smiled behind him. “Maybe because she has never met you?” he pointed out. “She has seen your effects on the living; she would not be a goddess if she cannot notice that. But she has never seen you, because you hide from her. Like one of your wraiths. Why do you hide from her? If I remember, you were born together, though you woke first.”

Reborn pursed his lips, remembering the light born from where their skin touched.

.

* * *

 

**Hyacinth**

There were paths to the under-world, if you knew where to look.

Places where light doesn’t touch and life doesn’t grow. Small, unnoticeable places for the hellhounds to wander and play.

There, Hyacinth waited for the god of Death while dressed like a mortal woman. She sat on the stone by the entrance. Being that it was nearing the end of summer, she knows it was almost time for the god’s yearly circuit of the planet.

When he emerged though, he immediately knew who she was.

“Goddess of Life,” he greeted.

She stood up and shed her mortal garb, smiling at him. “God of Death. Call me Hyacinth.”

He did not step back but he clearly wanted to. Hyacinth impishly smiled, holding out her hand. “Come with me, I want to show you something.”

The god of Death hesitated, but obliged, their hands glowing as it touched. Hyacinth was momentarily stalled by the sight, remembering something from a distant dream, but she shook it off.

“Let’s go!” she said, pulling him along to the northern ice caps, where no human had yet settled and there was no one to see them.

Hyacinth took him to her favorite creation, the hidden caverns under the ice, where light reflected and turned into a thousand different colors.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed.

“Isn’t it?” she agreed. “I love this place the most, where no man has touched and no creature will ever live.”

He looked at her then, surprised. “You created humans. You created all creatures.”

Hyacinth looked down at her feet, bare and uncovered but not touching the floor. She did not want any flowers to bloom here where they would just die in her absence.

“I create,” she sighed. “I create. And they do not stay.”

The ancient laws pressed deep into their bones. Nothing one created would ever be owned by their creator, so long as they have sentience.

What then, for someone who was born to create?

This is why Hyacinth loved the flowers, mainly because they would never leave her.

.

* * *

 

**Reborn**

His hand touched hers and for the first time, Reborn felt the stirrings of hope. Because her face echoed the loneliness in him.

Maybe Tsunayoshi had a point. Perhaps there was a reason they were born side by side.

“Did you know,” he said, just to break the heartbreaking silence. “That the light that shows when we touch is the light that created all gods.”

Her eyes light up with her smile. “Created all gods?” she asked.

Reborn nodded. “When we touch, there is a new being born, something borne out of the light, but not borne from you. That being…will not be your creation.”

She was elated. She touched his sleeve, careful now that she understood what the light was. “Let us come into my forest. We must speak on this further.”

Reborn felt that she hadn’t exactly thought that through.

“Wait, Hyacinth,” he called and maybe he hadn’t thought that through either. The sound of her name around his lips made both of them shiver. Distantly, he realized he’d never told her his name either, the one he chose for himself.

“Yes?” she asked hesitantly.

“Are you sure you want the god of Death in the center of Creation of Life?” he asked, pointing out the obvious.

She smiled at him then, one that softened her face and made her look less like a goddess. “I trust you. You can control yourself. And my children are not there, so no one should mind.”

Trust should not be so intoxicating. He knew that if anyone were ever to enter into his domain, he would not be quite as nonchalant.

“Of course,” he managed.

.

* * *

 

**Hyacinth**

She does not know how long they spend in her domain, but when her daughter came stomping through irritably, embodying the very mountain passes that had been in her essence, Hyacinth knew she’d forgotten something.

“Mother, I was approached by the Steward of Death asking about where his master was – “she cut off, catching sight of Reborn (he had given his name after some hesitation, making sure they were completely alone before telling her.) “I guess I know where the god of Death is.”

“Maria, how are your mountains?” Hyacinth asked just to diffuse the tension.

Maria still stared at the god of Death in all his glory by her side, both of them sharing a basket of fruits.

“My mountains are fine, mother. Why is he here?” she asked.

Hyacinth sat up. “Because I asked him to.”

Maria stared some more, and then left without a word.

“I suppose that was my clue to leave,” Reborn murmured. “And I must attend to the under-world. It must be pretty chaotic without me.”

Hyacinth knew that was true, but still she didn’t want him to leave. He was her _equal_.

“How long have you spent in my Forest?” she asked slowly, getting an idea.

“Six months, give or take,” he answered. He brushed the grass from his knees, none of them dying because he was always so careful around her home.

She blinked at him. “We are the balance, and that is why we cannot stay in the upper-world together too long. But it stands to reason that we cannot stay in the under-world together too long as well.”

Reborn went so still. His fingers twitched and his eyes watched her face.

“Alright,” he said eventually, slowly. “I’ll send you a message after I’ve managed my affairs.”

Hyacinth tried not to worry.

Hermione pointed out what she was missing. “You do realize that the rest of the gods think you have imprisoned Death in here?”

Hyacinth rose up in a flurry and hurriedly sent a message to Reborn.

.

* * *

 

**Reborn**

He grabbed her when she walked the fields unattended by her nymphs, a black chariot speeding by, pulled by hellhounds with fiery eyes.

It was properly dramatic, exploding from the very earth and creating a chasm that would likely have consequences later. Hyacinth even managed a scream.

“This is not a message!” she whispered to him, on the verge of giggling.

He smirked. “Well, I wanted to, but I changed my mind. Surprising you is the proper way to go about things. You certainly imprisoned me in your forest and let my creatures worry.”

Hyacinth started to laugh, ignoring the image she was supposed to portray.

“My daughters will hurt you,” she said. “And my only son will probably cause earthquakes.”

He laughed, a properly evil cackle that she was sure he had practice on, simply because it unnerved her. “My domain is untouched by any other god. Let them try!”

“Properly evil,” she murmured with a smile.


	9. Snippet - Setting someone on fire

Any normal person would have said, “You just can’t set people on fire!”

Hyacinth just cocks her head to the side and watches with concern shining in her eyes as Tsuna runs after a rival mafia boss with fire licking in his hair and hands. Actually, fire was everywhere and she marvels that no one is actually burning.

“Wow,” she finally manages to say. “Tsuna seems to have an immunity to fire.”

Reborn, hands equipped with a gun, smirks. “Yes. I trained him with that too.”

When the beating starts and Reborn glances at her from the side of his eyes with worry, Hyacinth’s brow wrinkles.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” she asks. “His teeth seem to have deserted him.”

Yamamoto, holding an unsheathed sword, laughs loudly. “Oh, his teeth will be joined by about two pints of blood.”

Reborn just places a hand on her wrist. Her hands were trembling a little as she watches the blood.

“Tsuna,” she calls. “Unless you like him to go into cardiac arrest, please stop. I don’t think the human body is made to withstand losing that much blood.”

Tsuna stops and Reborn herds her to the kitchen, kicking everyone out and handing her a mixing bowl and a ladle.

After making five dozen cookies, all of which Reborn didn’t touch, her body no longer trembles but she sags against the kitchen counter.

“Well, I don’t suppose that thing will be a rare occurrence,” she mutters. “I just hope it doesn’t involve as much blood. I don’t really appreciate remembering.”

Reborn just holds her and she slowly relaxes, the dark memories fading to the back of her mind again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also available at [tumblr](http://ladyhallen.tumblr.com)


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